–Eros: have you never felt Piety for the statues? These chrysalides of stone, Some formidable race In an eternal, unutterable hope. The sleeping craters of their mouths Utter the black ash of silence; A copious shroud of Calm Falls from the columns of their arms, And night flows from their eyesockets; Victims of Destiny or Mystery, In magnificent and terrible cocoons, They wait for Life or Death. Eros: have you never perhaps felt Piety for the statues?

Piety for the lives That will not strew nor rend your battles Nor gild your fiery truces; Piety for the bodies clothed In the solemn ermine of Calm, The luminous foreheads that endure Their marble wreaths, grand and pure, Weighty and glacial as icebergs; Piety for the gloved hands of ice That cannot uproot The delicious fruits of the Flesh, The fantastic flowers of the soul; Piety for the eyes that flutter Their spiritual eyelids: Mysterious fish scales, Dark curtains on rose visions... For looking so far, they never see!

Piety for the tidy heads of hair –Mystical haloes– Gently combed like lakes Which the storm’s black fan, Black and enormous, never thrashes; Piety for the spirits, illustrious, Carved of diamonds, High, clear, ecstatic Lightning rods on pious domes; Piety for the lips like celestial settings Where the invisible pearls of the Host gleam; –Lips that never existed, Never seized anything, A fiery vampire With more thirst and hunger than an abyss. Piety for the sacrosanct sexes That armor themselves with sheaths From the astral vineyards of Chastity; Piety for the magnetized footsoles Who eternally drag Sandals burning with sores Through the eternal azure; Piety, piety, pity For all the lives defended By the lighthouse of Pride From your marvelous raw weathers:

Eros: have you ever feltPiety for the statues?One would say they are chrysalides of stoneOf I know not what formidable lineageIn an eternal, unspeakable wait.The sleeping craters of their mouthsGive the black ash of silence,From the columns of his shouldersEmanates the copious shroud of calm,And from the hollows of their eyes the night flows;Victims of the Future or the Mystery,In terrible and magnificent bloomsAwait life or death.Eros: have you ever felt piety for the statues?

Piety for the livesThat with fire guild not your calmsNor besprinkle or break off your storms;Piety for the bodies cladIn the solemn ermine of calm,And the lighted foreheads that bearGreat marmoreal lilies of purity,Heavy and glacial like icebergs;Piety for the hands glovedWith ice, which pick notThe pleasurable fruits of the fleshNor the fanciful flowers of the soul;Piety for the eyes that batSpiritual eyelids:Scales of mystery,Black shrouds of rosy visions …They never see anything no matter how far they look!Piety for the fine locks(...)